


Great and Terrible Deeds

by beccaj327



Category: Beowulf - All Media Types
Genre: Brit Lit assignment, Drama, Grendel's POV, Horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-26
Updated: 2017-06-26
Packaged: 2018-11-19 05:54:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11307090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beccaj327/pseuds/beccaj327
Summary: I was born from a Sea Hag and a Giant. I was a monster – a demon – to them all. Alone I sat in the corners of my cave, alone and haunted by memories of happy days long forgotten and forsaken by the likes of creatures like me. All I truly ever wanted was a friend, someone to talk to and be merry with. Some one I could trust. But again I am reminded that I am a fiend, a demon, and an evil creature that simply roams the earth for destructive purposes. The Evil One created me, and to the Evil One I shall always remain bound to.





	Great and Terrible Deeds

**Author's Note:**

> Short story I wrote from Grendel's POV. This was originally a Brit Lit assignment, and I liked it so much I decided to upload it to FF.net, and now here. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did writing it.

I cried out as I heard the cheerful song and music. I wished I could be among them, those who were happy and drinking and living life. I was damned from the beginning, because I am a monster. I was born from a Sea Hag and a Giant. I was a monster – a demon – to them all. Alone I sat in the corners of my cave, alone and haunted by memories of happy days long forgotten and forsaken by the likes of creatures like me. All I truly ever wanted was a friend, someone to talk to and be merry with. Some one I could trust. But again I am reminded that I am a fiend, a demon, and an evil creature that simply roams the earth for destructive purposes. The Evil One created me, and to the Evil One I shall always remain bound to.

The music remains playing all night long, like most nights, and I cannot help but wish to join the men in their merry-making. But I cannot. It would be terrible for me to join them. The call and smell of blood would be too tempting. I am a monster. I feed on humans – I am a monster. I cannot control my bloodlust. Many times I have tried – and many times I have failed. My mother never encouraged this, telling me that it was unnatural. I should accept who I am and do not tempt fate, do not attempt to change what is predestined for me. When she would catch me attempting to stifle my instincts and turn away at the thought of killing mercilessly, she would punish me. But I still tried. My mother had good intentions – just not my intentions.

It became too much to bare one night. I could not stay in my lair any longer, listening to the joyful songs and the cheerful noises coming from the mead hall. I left my cave in curiosity after the music died down and the warriors had fallen asleep. I needed to see for myself if I could be among them without the temptation to take their lives. I was careful not to wake them, for they would find me repulsive, terrorizing, evil, horrid, and vile. I snuck a peak at the men who were so sound asleep and dreaming of feasts to come. Bones and uneaten, forgotten food littered the ground. The moment I saw the men, though, my instincts took over and I grabbed at thirty men, killing them instantly. Appalled at what I had just done, I took off back to my cave to hide, the bodies of the men still in my grasp, the blood dripping behind me. I was so ashamed. I could not believe that I was able to accomplish such a horrendous feat after so many years of attempting to stifle my lust and hunger.

Once back at my cave, I laid the broken bodies down on the ground. I could not, obviously, let them rot for that would be a waste. But I did not know if I could bare to eat them. As I stared at the bodies on the ground, the hunger and thirst kept rising, tempting me to eat them and get them out of my sight. I caved in, not being able to stand it any longer. After the meal was over, I was ashamed again. How could I have done something so vile and terrible? It was repulsive, even to me. I truly was a monster.

The next morning I could hear the shouts and mournful cries of the men's companions as they realized thirty of their men have been killed savagely by a demon like myself. I sat alone in my cave once again, crying to myself over what I have done. But even with the thought of how vile I truly was, I could not stop myself from returning to the mead hall and feasting every night. My mother was so obviously proud of me, but I was lost, confused, and conflicted within myself. I had killed, and I was addicted to killing. Was that all I was good for? Was that all I could do? I could not fight the urge anymore. I was thankful when the men left, fleeing from my range, out of my sight, out of my hearing range. I would never touch the king, though. I had little control over my actions, but the king was off limits, even to me. To kill the king would mean instant death to myself, if only emotional and mental death – I may be a monster, but I did have a heart and soul and felt pain and emotions.

For twelve years this continued, and I had no control over it. Rumors started to pass through the land, most of which were not true. I was never offered money or land. Not one man offered me anything, but I did not care. I would not have been able to accept anything from the men – I was too much of a monster to fight the lust of human flesh. It soon came to my attention that a new man was coming. A man by the name of Beowulf was to come and fight me, ending my siege of the mead hall. I was torn – a man as great as Beowulf could not possibly exist, though if he did my terrible deeds could surely be done and over with soon. I had no control over my body and mind any longer by this point. I spent my days locked in my lair, avoiding all interaction with nature and humans, and at night I would ransack the mead hall, killing and eating as I went.

One night came and I was blindly going through the motions of the night before, like I had for several years now. As I entered the mead hall, I snatched up the first man I saw, and stuffed him into my mouth without a second thought – at this point there was no fighting against fate and my destiny. As I reached for the second man, I was suddenly seized. The man had a grip on me like none before. I could not move and I was terrified. I had never woken a man before, and this was terrible. This must be Beowulf, the man who came to end my tyranny over the mead hall. I thought to run, and tried to as well, but my way was blocked. I was suddenly given full control over my lust and I craved no blood or flesh that night any longer, just a retrieve from these men who could so easily take me down. I fought and fought to leave and vow to never return, but the men would not let me.

The battle raged on, and I could still not make my escape. If only they could understand that I meant them no harm – if I would be allowed to leave I would never return. All the men tried to harm me, stab me, and kill me. The Evil One had cursed my skin so no man-made object could harm me, and I could not be killed. I made for my escape, but was caught again, and I screamed in agonizing pain, as Beowulf was able to rip my arm from my shoulder. I ran off in pain, wanting to escape and never return. I found my mother in her lair; the Sea Hag was upset to find her son in such pain and anguish. She vowed to me that she would revenge my pain, but I tried to stop her. I did not want her to fight the men. I did not want a battle.

Beowulf came to my mother's lair one night, set on trying to kill her and myself – I do not blame him. We were terrible creatures; we killed without consult and ate flesh and blood without thought. I did not watch the battle between my mother and Beowulf, for I was too concerned with my own wound. I only saw Beowulf kill my mother. I was conflicted yet again. I was capable of love, for I loved my mother dearly. Yet I was also capable of hate, for I hated what she had turned me into. I looked upon Beowulf's face as he walked toward me. I realized then that my life was over – my evil deeds were paid for, and I was going to be killed by this man who took my arm. Beowulf's eyes were full of hate and anger, and I could not blame him, as he raised the sword above my head.

**Author's Note:**

> If you can't guess already, I was inspired by The Beast from Beauty and the Beast, among other not-villains from Disney and animated films from when I was younger. My Brit Lit teacher thought I took inspiration from Edward Cullen (Twilight). But I promise I didn't. But if you see that, then I guess you're not the only one. I hope you enjoyed this story! Thank you for reading it!!


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